Refuge from the Storm
by EJ Santry
Summary: A rainy day finds Katniss seeking refuge in an unexpected place. She finds warmth from the ovens of the bakery and the man who stokes them. KxP.


**A/N: Written for LolaShoes for her birthday 2010. **

**SPOILER WARNING! DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED MOCKINGJAY!**

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I hadn't gotten far into the woods that day, when a Spring rain began. It was soft at first, but it soon gave way to the type of rain that lasts all day. Knowing that all the animals would be finding shelter instead of my snares or my arrows, I decided to seek some shelter of my own. What I didn't expect was where my footsteps carried me. I found myself not at my door, but standing in the warm glow of the open doorway of the reconstructed bakery.

The smell of the breads and cookies baking had my mouth salivating before I'd crossed the threshold. Yet, as the aroma drew me in, the sight left me frozen in my footsteps. There, across the room, stoking the fire of his brick oven was Peeta. I found myself staring at the muscular expanse of his shoulders and back; his skin glowing yellow in the firelight. There was a slight sheen of sweat that caused him to almost shimmer.

"Are you just going to stand in the doorway, or are you coming in?" He asked stunning me from my silent reverie.

"It was raining, and I saw the light," I began, but he turned and the words caught in my throat.

We had found our intimacy two years ago, when I finally admitted to him and myself, that he was the thing I couldn't live without. Now, he was my everything. My salvation from the past and my hope of the future.

"What are you working on?" I asked my voice sounding rough in my ears.

"Come here, and I will show you," he said gesturing to the table in the middle of the room.

Sprawled across the table were racks of cooling cookies. Some of them were frosted already. Beautiful flowers decorated the buttery cookies in every shade of icing. I ghosted my finger over the frail petals of the confectionery blooms.

"They're beautiful, Peeta."

"Almost as beautiful as my favorite water blossom," Peeta said coming up behind me, and I melted into his embrace.

His skin was warm from his close proximity to the ovens and fire, and my cold body saught his warmth.

"Let's get you out of these wet clothes before you get sick."

I stood only moving to lift an arm or a leg as he removed my rain soaked clothes with a reverence that only Peeta had. His mind may have been plagued by the Capitol, but his heart had never been unwavering, and I felt that in everything he did for me.

I found myself standing bare in the protective shelter of both the warm room and the man who now hung my clothes considerately by the fire. He turned then taking me in as he often did when he was standing in front of a blank canvas at home before he created something beautiful. I was his canvas now. He stepped up to me locking me to him with his leveling gaze. I felt his fingers and calloused hands as they slid over the bare skin of my hip, coming to rest splayed on my lower back as he drew me to him. His lips hovered a hair's breath from my own before he whispered against them.

"I love you, Katniss."

"I love you, Peeta. So much."

He leaned in that last inch giving me unhurried, languid kisses. Soft pecks interspersed with long, deep stroking of tongues. Our hands traced over the smooth skin of the other, pausing to spend extra reverence to scarred tissue we both shared. Peeta began walking backwards toward the brick oven, never breaking our kiss or touch. He paused only for a moment to rid himself of his shoes and pants before sitting down in the plain wooden chair that sat near the kiln.

He held his hand out to me in a way that was not a question, but a smile plays along his lips, and I found mine mirroring his. I was willingly pulled forward to stand between his legs, and he leaned into me placing reverent kisses across my stomach. His left hand came up bearing the ring that I put on his finger this past Christmas in a quiet ceremony in the tradition of our District. He was mine, and I was absolutely his.

"I can't wait to put my child in here," half confession and half promise. His hand rubbed across my taught stomach and his eyes locked with mine. "A child free from the fear of the Games with their mother's eyes and her spirit."

I was overwhelmed in that moment with the knowledge that there was a future now. One that included things like hope and happiness. With that confidence, I stepped over his legs and lowered myself onto Peeta's lap. I kissed my husband passionately as I began a slow rocking gripping the back of the chair. His hands reached behind me and found their way up my back until they were tangled in my hair. I could feel my body responding to his as our movements became slick in contrast to the dry heat of the air around us. On my next pass, I froze my movements and reached down wrapping my hand around Peeta. He moaned as his head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed.

Slowly, I lowered myself onto him, stretching and filling with this man I love. No words were needed now. His eyes were set now on mine and he pulled me close to his chest as we set a gradual pace, just enjoying each other. This was soft and reverent. He drew himself almost completely from me before I pulled us back together again. Our chests slid more easily as the heat of the fire next to us and our movements heated us. We both found our pleasure in quiet cries and stilling bodies, as we continued to pulse and contract on the inside.

Once we had caught our breaths, Peeta scooted forward in the chair so I could wrap myself around him. He just sat there holding me close, because he knew I still felt weak when vulnerable. He reassured me with his love and soft touches, before standing, holding me, and carrying me into the small office he has off to the side. Setting me on his very orderly desk, he reached into the wardrobe his has in there and pulls one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers. With a grin, he hands them to me, kisses me softly, and returns to the ovens.

Once dressed, I found him as I initially did, stoking the fires, and putting new loves into the oven, once again, clad only in his boots and pants. I curled up in the chair that we recently christened, and watched my husband work. Almost unconsciously, I slid my own hand under my shirt and across my stomach as I, too, began to hope.


End file.
